by Brenda Hiatt
“Done!” chorused the other two.
Jerry turned to Marcus, smiling. “Actually, it wouldn’t matter if she came out and fell over her feet every night. She’s so beautiful half the bucks in London are head over heels in love with her, though so far no one seems to have won her favor. Don’t know why she bothers with any of us, really.”
“Perhaps she appreciates the attention of a man of action,” said George loftily.
“Don’t flatter yourself that she likes you best!” said Oswald. “I am certain Mademoiselle Juliette prefers consorting with gentlemen of taste and refinement.”
“If so, you’d best change that waistcoat of yours,” said Jerry. “Those Petersham trousers are bad enough without that damned pink thing. My eyes hurt just looking at it.”
“Pink?” said Oswald. “This is pink? I thought it was yellow.”
“As if that would be better,” groaned Jerry. “You know you can’t tell one color from another. Why don’t you just let your man choose your clothes? Come, I’ll find you something.”
“Your clothes are all too big for me,” protested Oswald, but the other two dragged him off into Jerry’s bedroom.
Marcus sat back down, amused by the sounds of argument issuing from the other room. A few minutes later, the trio emerged, Oswald wearing a white waistcoat and a peevish expression. A glass of wine did much to cheer him. Soon after, Jerry’s manservant arrived bringing their dinner.
Marcus found himself enjoying the meal, despite the fact that the mutton was overdone and the potatoes the opposite. It was impossible to wallow in melancholy while talking to Jerry’s friends, even if at times they made him feel about a hundred years old. Drawing on what he’d read in his grandfather’s journals, he had little difficulty satisfying their curiosity about life on the Continent, although clearly they were disappointed by his vague replies to their frank questions about the antics of Frenchwomen. Several times, his eyes met Jerry’s over the table and both nearly succumbed to laughter.
After dinner and several more bottles of burgundy, they all piled into a hack and set off for the opera. The cool night air sobered Marcus, enough to make him remember his resolve to behave discreetly. Perhaps he ought not even enter the Green Room; surely he would get quite a satisfactory look at Mademoiselle Juliette on the stage.
They soon alighted in the Haymarket, and Marcus looked about curiously, never having seen the King’s Theatre before. He received only a brief impression of a long colonnaded facade as Jerry and his friends hurried in the main entrance.
As they purchased their tickets, Marcus noticed the bill announcing the evening’s entertainment.
“La Molinara. The miller girl?” he asked, hazarding a translation.
Jerry and his friends looked at him in amazed respect, then George and Oswald nodded to each other knowingly. Marcus stifled a chuckle, imagining their disappointment if they ever learned that he had acquired a smattering of Italian, and a bit more French, through helping Mama in her attempts to teach Lucy the basic feminine accomplishments. In truth, Marcus had learned more than his rebellious sister, though he doubted it would ever be of use to him.
They climbed the grand double staircase and entered the auditorium. The opera being already in progress, they quickly made their way to the pit and found seats on the end of one of the benches. Marcus looked about surreptitiously, trying not to appear too amazed. He had never seen so many chandeliers in one place, casting their light over the fashionably dressed occupants of the many boxes, or such a vast, elaborately painted ceiling.
He could not but be impressed.
Perhaps he was indeed a hopeless rustic, for he thought the rural scene depicted on the stage quite lovely, and the music itself even more engaging, its melodies easy and pleasant. He listened closely to the words, catching the sense of them enough to laugh at the occasional joke, while most of the audience seemed oblivious. The masculine crowd in the pit, in particular, seemed not to be attending very closely at all. Some barely applauded at the end of the first act, though their gazes were attentively focused on the stage for the first time.
“Ah! There they are!”
In response to Jerry’s loud whisper, Marcus looked back toward the stage. Involuntarily, his jaw dropped. Now he knew why the ballet was so popular with Jerry and his friends.
Eight young women had come onto the stage, and the dance they were performing looked to be inspired by folk dances, as did their costumes. However, Marcus doubted any peasant girl had ever worn quite such an ensemble. Low-cut, tightly-laced bodices in rich colors and voluminous, knee-length skirts tantalizingly displayed more feminine charms than Marcus had ever beheld. All he could think was that the engravings he had seen in the library at Redwyck Hall did not do the faintest justice to the beauty of the female form.
Hoping no one would notice his flush, he watched first one dancer, then another. Each seemed lovelier than the last. Then his gaze alighted on a tall girl, positioned near the back of the group, perhaps because of her height. He looked a silent question toward Jerry.
“Yes, that is she. Juliette,” Jerry whispered her name dreamily, his eyes fixed on the tall dancer.
Now that Mademoiselle Juliette had caught his attention, Marcus found himself entranced. The lamps around the stage transformed her red-gold hair into a fiery coronet, in striking contrast to the tiny, blue-green bodice that lifted an enticing expanse of creamy, rounded flesh to view. As she danced, her frothy skirt swayed, revealing long, shapely limbs that gave rise to all sorts of wild and wicked thoughts.
Good God! What was he thinking? Even if he were not pledged to pursue another woman, he should not waste his time dreaming about such a Bird of Paradise. No doubt there were scores of wealthier and more sophisticated bucks vying for her favors. He chided himself for being a fool, but still found himself unable to drag his gaze away from the tall dancer as she joined the others in a circle. Some measures later, they all reversed directions, except for Mademoiselle Juliette, who bumped into the adjoining dancer before hastily changing her direction as well.
Marcus’s trance was momentarily interrupted by her slight mishap, and by the noise Jerry and his friends made as they settled their wager. He looked back again at their idol, but found he could not be an impartial judge of her dancing. He thought her graceful beyond anything, and the look of intense concentration on her perfect oval of a face rather attractive in contrast to the bold smiles of the others.
Perhaps her mistake was only due to her newness to this company of dancers. Or perhaps he was already besotted, just like the rest of them. It didn’t matter; he only knew that when his friends urged him to accompany them to the Green Room to see the divine Juliette more closely, he would not be able to refuse.
Chapter Four
Despite its several fine arias and duets, Marcus found it more difficult to concentrate on the second act of the opera. Soon enough, however, it was over and he followed the others out of the pit. As they strolled down Fops’ Alley, Marcus found himself the target of bold, inviting glances from several women who frequented the corridor through the pit. He whispered a question to Jerry, and flushed hotly at the reply. He’d heard of such women, but he had not seen one before. It seemed shocking that they could ply their wares so boldly in one of London’s most prestigious theatres.
“Don’t stare, Marcus,” said Jerry. “Come along. Those tarts are not half so pretty as Mademoiselle Juliette, and they won’t flirt with you as she will.”
A few minutes later, they reached the entrance to the Green Room. Marcus put a hand on Jerry’s arm to detain him as George and Oswald rushed ahead of them.
“Jerry, you need not introduce me, you know. I really had better just stay back and watch.”
“Oh very well,” Jerry grumbled. “If you’re determined to be such a dull dog, I won’t stand in your way.”
They both entered the large, candlelit room. Marcus paused on the threshold, briefly overwhelmed by the mingled scents of perfume and p
erspiration, the warmth of the crowded room and the colorful chaos of costumed singers and dancers, punctuated by the darker attire of the gentlemen who came to ogle the dancers. Then he noticed Jerry and his friends heading toward a small knot of gentlemen near the end of the room. Above their heads Marcus could see the top of a large, gilded mirror, and surmised that the fascinating Juliette must be practicing her steps before it.
Suddenly, the group parted to allow Jerry and his friends to come closer. Marcus noted disappointed and puzzled expressions on the faces of the displaced gentlemen as Mademoiselle Juliette smiled a bright welcome to his own friends. Awkwardly, he stopped to stand a short distance behind them. The hum of conversation around him made it impossible to hear what his friends said to the dancer. It didn’t matter. All he wanted to do was to gaze at her.
Poised on one foot before the mirror, lifting an exquisitely turned leg into the air behind her, she at first put him in mind of some exotic bird or butterfly; a bright yet elusive creature with her glorious flaming hair and peacock blue bodice. Then she turned to stand facing Jerry and his friends. Marcus took a step closer, and was a little disappointed when he gazed at her face. Her cheeks and lips were quite heavily rouged, making her seem both more sophisticated and older than her lithe, youthful figure suggested.
Marcus froze as she looked past Jerry and his friends, meeting his own gaze. She must have used something to darken her eyelashes, but there was nothing at all artificial about the deep, brilliant blue of her eyes. It reminded him of the intense hue of the sky on a clear, crisp day in autumn. Catching a look of doubt in her face, he looked away in embarrassment. Why did she seem ill-at-ease with his scrutiny? Surely she was accustomed to such admiring stares.
He was close enough now to hear the tinkle of her laugh as she responded to one of Oswald’s elaborate compliments.
“Ah, you are a flatterer, Meester Babbinswood,” she said, in a delightfully accented voice. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she smiled at Oswald. “You are looking verry handsome this evening. Is this—this stunning ensemble in my honor?”
Oswald bowed deeply, and beamed from ear to ear at her praise.
“Ah, I would do far greater things in your honor, my goddess,” said George, turning to sneer at Oswald before transferring an adoring gaze back toward Mademoiselle Juliette. “I am no fashionable fribble. You may count on me if you should ever require the defense of a real man. Only last week I came close to sustaining a wound that might have taken me from this world forever. Allow me to show you,” he said, putting a hand up to his already untidy cravat and baring a portion of his neck.
Mademoiselle Juliette drew back, in temporary astonishment at his bizarre offer, but she recovered quickly.
“Mon dieu! You might have been killed!” she said in an admiring tone of voice, but Marcus saw her eyes were dancing.
“He cut himself shaving!” interjected Oswald.
“Ah, but I know Meester Dudley is very brave,” she said, bestowing another of her fascinating smiles on George.
“I have sustained far graver wounds, fair Juliette, but I could not show them to you except in private,” he responded hopefully.
Her full lips twitched a little, but Mademoiselle Juliette’s voice was steady as she replied. “Non, non! I could not bear such a manly display; it would be too overwhelming for such a frail creature as I am.”
Marcus chuckled quietly at her quick-witted response.
“You must be tired of all this nonsense, Mademoiselle Juliette,” said Jerry, claiming her attention. “I can offer you something more pleasant. Perhaps you would care to join me for supper after the performance?”
“I thank you for your so-kind offer, Meester Plumbrook,” she said. “But I must get my sleep. We rehearse a new ballet tomorrow morning.”
Jerry and his friends eagerly plied her with questions about the upcoming performance, asking if she had been offered a solo role. Her eyes gleamed with humor again as she gently deflated their hopes, insisting that she was no soloiste and was quite content with her humble position in the corps de ballet. Marcus listened quietly, enjoying Mademoiselle Juliette’s tactful handling of her admirers. It was clear she was no feather-witted beauty. It was very good-natured of her to flirt so kindly with Jerry and his friends.
Perhaps it was time for him to leave. He began to feel foolish standing behind his friends, like a skeleton at a feast, with his somber attire and lack of conversation. Yet he could not summon the will to leave, fascinated as he was by Mademoiselle Juliette’s animated expression and delicious figure. He could not help wondering how it would feel to put an arm around that slender waist, to kiss those ripe lips. To untie the laces that held the tiny bodice closed and kiss that white skin, and learn for himself if it was as soft and dewy as it looked…
Too late, he realized that Mademoiselle Juliette had dismissed Jerry and his friends. He found himself staring once more into her questioning blue eyes. Was she blushing, or was it a trick of the candlelight on her painted face?
“Monsieur, I asked your friends to leave so I may practice my steps,” she said, a hint of reproach in her voice.
He flushed in response. He knew he should just bow and leave, yet he felt a desperate urge to retrieve his blunder in a more graceful manner. Perhaps she would enjoy being addressed in her native tongue.
“Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle,” he said, and continued in the same language. “Forgive me. I was lost in admiration of your beauty.”
Where had those words come from? he wondered. He would not have dared to utter such a compliment in his native English, but in French the words had come tripping right off his tongue. Perhaps it was all the Burgundy he’d drunk at dinner.
“Ah, you are a Frenchman?” she asked, and he stared at her in shock. Was his accent that good?
“No, I am desolated to admit I am not a countryman of yours,” he replied, having paused just long enough to remember the persona Jerry had devised for him. “I have just completed a prolonged sojourn on the Continent.”
She seemed to stiffen, and he wondered why.
“Did you see much of France, monsieur… monsieur? I believe you have the advantage of me.”
“My deepest apologies, mademoiselle. I should have introduced myself. I am Lord Dare, at your service.” He bowed, hoping he did not cut too clumsy a figure.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, milord,” she replied, sweeping him a slow courtesy, extending a gracefully arched foot in a dainty slipper and giving him an enticing view of her décolletage.
“I hope you are enjoying our performance, milord,” she said, straightening up.
“Very much. I have seen nothing so wonderful before.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I am certain you are accustomed to far superior performances at the Paris Opera House.”
“Unfortunately, I had little luxury of indulging in such pleasures,” he replied, hoping to retrieve his slip. “I am sure nothing could be more lovely than what I have seen tonight.”
“You flatter me, milord. But now you must permit me to continue practicing. Soon I must partake in the divertissement.”
As she looked up at him, Marcus thought her smile seemed different than the ones she had bestowed on his friends. Had she enjoyed their banter, or was it merely the wine befuddling his brain? Was it his imagination, or did her eyes seem even larger, her lips redder and fuller than before? No doubt those lips had been kissed countless times before, but they were no less tempting for all that.
“Milord, what must I do to convince you to leave?” she asked. She looked at him pointedly, but her voice sounded intriguingly breathless.
“Kiss me.”
The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them. What had come over him, to be so bold? Good God! He’d never kissed anyone before. He was bound to make a laughingstock of himself. But he might never get such a chance again. It was worth the risk.
Juliana looked up at Lord Dare, at a loss for how to deal with h
im. She’d been uneasily aware of his presence as he had hovered, silent and mysterious, outside the circle of foolish admirers she cultivated as a shield from more dangerous bucks. With his height, his broad shoulders, lean frame and darkly elegant attire, Dare looked more rakish than any gentleman she had yet encountered in her impulsive masquerade.
As he took a step toward her, she noticed he walked with a slight limp. Had he been injured during his sojourn on the Continent, perhaps in a duel with a bitter Bonapartist? Although he seemed not to be out of his twenties, there were faint lines around Dare’s eyes and mouth that spoke of pain and experiences she could only imagine. There was no doubt that he had traveled widely. It was alarming to have met someone so fluent in the French tongue.
Equally alarming was the look of keen intelligence in the aristocratic, sculptured lines of his face, and the intensity of his gaze. At first his eyes had seemed green, but now that he stood quite close Juliana saw they were an intriguing hazel, a mixture of blue and green, with flecks of golden brown about the rims of his irises. Colors of adventure, of the land and sea and sky, she thought for a mad moment, heart pounding wildly at his proximity.
She reminded herself that he might be a real rake, unlike Jeremy Plumbrook and his friends, who only pretended. She had to find a way to repel his advances without ruining her disguise. A light approach would probably serve best.
She assumed what she hoped was jaded air, and said, “Ah, but I am weary of kisses. You cannot wish for one so badly.”
“I assure you, Mademoiselle, that having received one kiss from your lips, I would die a happy man,” Dare replied, his husky voice caressing each word.
“But I do not wish any man’s death on my conscience!” she parried.
“Ah, but I think I shall die if you do not kiss me,” was his instant reply. An earnest note in his voice seemed to belie his theatrical words. He was nothing like the fools who had kissed her so clumsily in the past. Perhaps his kiss would be different. She had wanted experiences, adventures. Why not seize this one?